


Running mates

by maybeillride



Category: Free!
Genre: (you decide which Clinton lol), American Politics, Campaign-manager!Kisumi, Clinton-ish!Makoto, Commentator!Miho, F/F, Gen, Journalist!Gou, Just this shy of crack, M/M, Political AU, Producer!Chigusa, Ridiculous Innuendo, Sanders-ish!Sousuke, Secret Relationship, cause why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Political pundits were stunned today at the announcement that the Makoto Tachibana campaign has already selected a running mate. The announcement comes the day after Tachibana’s final opponent, Sousuke Yamazaki, conceded defeat. What is even more surprising is Tachibana’s selection of his vanquished opponent to be his Vice-President, despite – or perhaps because of? – their infamous clashes on the campaign trail.” The red-headed reporter nods gravely to the camera, with an odd twinkle in her eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running mates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishka/gifts).



> A silly little political thing (THAT COULDN'T POSSIBLY OFFEND ANYONE I SWEAR) that owes its silly little existence to ishka, who I owed a SouMako meeting one of the following: "a day in the life of two boring adults OR contract killers where business is kabooming. or not kabooming, and someone needs a part-time job. deep sea divers. delinquent makoto showing mr. by the book a good time" (actually those would make GREAT fics and sorry you aren't getting any of them) ;D

“They’re on in ten,” the producer says, popping her head into their coffin-like dressing room. Kisumi drops whatever last-ditch desperate plea he was in the middle of, _For God’s sake get a smile in every once in a while,_ or maybe _Count to three before saying ANYTHING,_ which is his latest behavioral attempt to force a frontal lobe onto Yamazaki Sousuke. At this point in the campaign, Kisumi’s not sure anything he’s saying is making a goddamn bit of difference anyway.

 _…one more debate,_ goes the mantra Kisumi’s been keeping for himself this futile march of a day. One more debate. Can’t be any worse than the last one. The last one, when Sousuke had proposed abolishing the defense department. It’s an indicator of how utterly batshit this Presidential primary has been that he’s somehow, improbably, standing here at the end, clutching hands with his lone opponent as they wait for America to decide who gets the Democratic tiara this year.

Sousuke apparently senses none of the pre-show ozone hanging sharp in the air. He’s hunched over his laptop like some cross between a silverback gorilla and a buzzard, nodding gravely to himself at the latest stats on wind power market penetration displayed on the screen and jotting something in his illegible scrawl. Like he’s hunting down supporting info for a Facebook flamewar post instead of, oh, imminently due on national TV, facing a man who could give debate pointers to Socrates.

“He’ll be ready,” Kisumi assures the producer. She blinks at them and he reads pity carefully walled off behind her game-face, or maybe just sympathy. The look of someone who’s watched a hundred campaigns crash and burn to the ground while she’s called the cues and thrown to commercial. A totally-sane Nero.

He vaguely wonders if he may finally be freaking out.

She hasn’t left the doorway yet. “...so, you’ll want to wrap up your prep. Has makeup been at him yet?”

Kisumi honks out a laugh. Definitely freaking out. “Yep. I like the smoky-eye they gave him. Very understated.”

She opens her mouth but before she can say anything, she’s pressing her headphones to one ear and raising a finger. She twirls it in the air in a “get on with it” move when she’s done listening.

“Okay, hotshot. Time to go.”

Kisumi swallows and jumps up, turning to fetch his candidate.

“Kick some Tachibana ass, Sousuke,” he grins, giving his shoulder a squeeze. That’s the funniest part. No matter how much of a total fool’s errand this campaign has been, no matter how unclear it is that Sousuke has managed to change the national conversation at all, Kisumi still finds himself believing in him. In his drunk-at-3AM honesty, in his stubbornness, in the ideals he hangs onto way past their freshness date. He’s the real-deal.

Unlike his slippery career-politician opponent.

 *

_doodooDOOdoooo… DoodooDOODOODOOOO…_

It’s amazing, Gou thinks, how much more fucking obnoxious “The Final Countdown” can be when you blast it past the point of human safety into an enclosed TV studio. The mouthbreathers in the audience sure seem to be eating it up, though. Tonight’s debate is set up in a folksy town hall format, and the campaigns have somehow managed to find attendees to match. She thinks there’s a guy dressed as a joint somewhere, if he got through security, that is.

Mercifully, Tachibana and Yamazaki take their cues and enter from stage-right and stage-left, respectively, to a crowd response loud enough to drown out the Europe thundering over the sound system. It’s funny; in some ways, they’re so similar crossing to their marks, it’s uncanny. Two giant guys, buff as all hell, hot as fuck. _Japanese-American._ The media (of which she is technically a part) has gone just apeshit over it, crowing that after Presidents Obama and Clinton and these current Democratic finalists, the U.S. is clearly in a post-race, post-gender period.

Gou enjoys such lazy reporting about as much as Europe’s greatest hit. However, it likely got her this moderating gig, so gift horses needing orthodontia and all that.

Chigusa’s voice slides into her earpiece, sounding suspiciously amused. “So I think the flameout potential is… high, here. Be gentle, okay?”

Gou tries to snort while not moving her facial muscles. “When am I not?”

*

Gou demands that Chigusa come to her place to rewatch the network tape of the whole sorry thing. She can hardly explain her weird need to herself much less her poor producer, but they’ve worked together forever and the pile of favors on either side is deep enough that Chigusa even supplies the beer.

“…okay, _okay._ Here’s where things get weird,” Gou pronounces, pointing violently at the TV with her slice of pizza. They both go quiet, gazing raptly at the screen, where until now the discourse has been reasonable, more-or-less policy-oriented and, frankly, dull as fuck.

…until the Bachelorhood Question, that is.

Gou knew the question was journalistic tripe, especially coming from the lips of a female moderator. But it was unavoidable, the six-foot gorilla in the national room. Americans apparently could NOT get over the Democratic contenders’ unusual good looks, unprecedented ethnicities… but that was ridiculously dwarfed by their appetite for speculation about these guys’ relationship statuses. Gou almost felt bad – _she_ knew what it was like to have total strangers writing articles and blog posts theorizing about who you were sleeping with, and she wasn’t even running for President.

_Thank God._

TV-Gou shifted a paper decisively on the desk, then went for the pitch.

“As you’re both very aware, Americans seem to be fascinated that you’re unmarried.” A pause, just long enough to wring a little combined titter-gasp from the rabble. Then a pounce back in for the kill. “Would you both care to comment? Mr. Tachibana, to you first.”

And there’s this perfect microcosm of both guys in the same instant. Hit with a _TMZ-_ level question, Tachibana’s response apparently is to turn on his formidable charm full-force, while his opponent becomes some kind of black hole of doom.

“Well, Ms. Matsuoka – may I call you Gou?” he asked with total innocence, and his eyes were big and open in the nuclear-grade lights, and his stance was relaxed and undefended, and Gou grudgingly thinks once again as she takes a vicious bite of her pizza, _damn, this guy’s good._

“Let’s stick to the question, if we could,” she replied swiftly. “Something to hide?”

He laughed like some giant happy leprechaun and Yamazaki almost looked ready to interrupt. “Not at all! To be perfectly frank, there have been many late nights when I’ve gotten home to the Governor’s mansion after a never-ending parade of committee meetings and press conferences. And as I watch some random rerun with my cat, I wonder, is this all worth it?” The yokels burst into appreciative laughter right on cue, as if they practiced it. There were more than a few female coos.

But then the folksy, casual body language was gone, as he drifted over to rest an elbow on a podium and draw himself to his full impressive height. His eyes narrowed as they pinned hers’.

“Yes, it most-certainly is worth it,” he said with utter conviction, pounding his fist on the podium at the perfect moment in _certainly._ “I’m _in_ a long-term relationship, Ms. Matsuoka. It’s with the teachers, the factory workers, the farmers. It’s with the waitress who works at Target on the side. It’s with the high school student applying to college for the first time in his family’s history. I’m hopelessly in love with all of them, with all of you –” And he opened his arms wide to encompass the whole of the studio audience and, presumably, America.

Chigusa blows an obscenely-wet raspberry on the couch next to her. Gou’s too hypnotized at the work of surrealist performance art on the screen to acknowledge her.

“…and I hope, _fervently,_ that you all can let me prove it to you.”

The entire audience was left in a weird trance for exactly the time it took Sousuke Yamazaki to finish hanging his head and shaking it, in some existential anguish.

“ _Bull_ shit.”

The censors caught it with the five second delay, of course. But that didn’t make a damn bit of difference to the audience, who hooted and yelled unintelligible gibberish and generally made a scene.

Tachibana just grinned like someone had told him something hilarious. But – and here’s where Gou can’t get over the terminal differences between these guys – Yamazaki wore a death-stare like he’d be perfectly capable of pulling a samurai sword out from his podium, walking over to Tachibana, and bisecting him.

“So, tell us, Makoto, when you’re gonna quit with the campaign _bullshit._ ” The vaguely threatening guy apparently was just asking rhetorically, swiveling ponderously over to her. “Actually, Matsuoka, why don’t you? Do you know, this country is in real goddamn trouble.” The stage manager was edging forward at this point, ready to throw her to commercial if needed.

“Mr. Yamazaki, if you’d care to rephrase that. May I remind you we aren’t on Fox,” she said smoothly, successfully getting a “gotcha” laugh from the crowd.

“We may as well be,” Yamazaki shot back. “Babbling away about who we’re both screwing when we’re facing the greatest gap between rich and poor in our country’s history. In ANY country’s history. When the polar ice-sheets just keep _melting_ and _melting_ and _Governor_ Tachibana ought to be planning for how to save Manhattan from being washed away.” He turned out to the audience, pointing at his opponent like an Old Testament prophet.

“Instead, he’s trying to get in bed with all of you. I think it’s pretty damn clear where a _President_ Tachibana would put his priorities.”

The studio had gone uneasy-quiet, sort of like when people stare up at a thunderstorm barreling their way, and _still_ Tachibana smiled.

Or, he did until he degenerated into an exaggerated kissy-face at Yamazaki, getting the man to almost completely lose his shit as he sputtered about how free college for all could save the country from the sheer stupidity on display.

“Oh my GOD I adore this man,” Chigusa brays, wheezing so hard in her laughing jag she has to drape herself all over Gou. Gou’s laughing hard enough she can’t defend her personal space. The beer definitely doesn’t hurt.

“I think I do too??” Gou finally is able to say when talking becomes possible again. “Even though he’s a giant asshole. No, BECAUSE he’s a giant asshole.”

“Eh, Tachibana is too, he’s just better at hiding it,” Chigusa waves-off. “Fucking politicians.” The burp mid-word turns it epic.

Gou loses herself in thought for a bit as the debate spools on in front of them, these moments that seemed so fraught at the time surprising her now with their predictability (even with these two loopy candidates).

“I think that’s what’s so funny about this campaign. It’s like the last-ditch effort of somebody who’s doing this just ‘cause they give a shit. ‘Cause, they give too MANY shits?” She makes a face at her terrible phrasing as Chigusa laughs. “And look who he’s up against. The fucking political Terminator. It’s almost sad, really.”

Chigusa stands up and stretches. “Well, it’s good TV, if nothing else.”

Gou reaches for the remote. “Hey, don’t leave. I was gonna fast-forward to Miho’s color-commentary.”

Chigusa drops back on the couch, making a low little _mmm-hmm_ sound. “Speaking of good TV.”

*

Kisumi knows he should feel zero disappointment the night Sou finally concedes. Hell, after the endless grind of what he’s decided is his last political gig ever, he should be reveling in that mythic “I’m going to Disneyland!!” euphoria.

Which, is completely absent. He _is_ disappointed. Even through the lack of sleep and way too much time on the phone and just way too much _peopling,_ in general, something kept percolating in his gut all along telling him it was worth it.

Standing to the side of the podium as Sousuke talks, Kisumi finds himself struggling to maintain a composed face. It’s just all too real, his old friend is way too honest even for his own good and that’s his magic power and his fatal flaw. Because people would rather be lied to by their elected officials, when it all comes down to it. People don’t want the truth from the President any more than they want it from their spouse. When it’s ugly, anyway.

“This wasn’t a waste of your time,” Sousuke tells the emotional crowd of supporters and campaign workers, almost like he’s peeking into Kisumi’s brain. “You all threw yourselves into an overtime job for nowhere near the pay you deserve, and you didn’t see your husbands and girlfriends and kids and parents for way too long.” Some overzealous kid in the back yells a line about how they were all working for him too, which is cheesy as hell, but people laugh and even Sousuke smiles.

“History doesn’t forget the things we do. If we’re willing to get off our lazy complacent asses when we’re upset about something, instead of just bitching that ‘someone should really do something about that’ and then cuing up the next episode of _Game of Thrones,_ well, I believe that can kick off a new habit. And so this campaign was worth your time. Because there’s nothing more powerful than a habit.”

He grins at the crowd like he’s making an esoteric Sousuke joke, but people are starting to chant his name, and he turns to grab Kisumi’s hand and raise it over their heads. Kisumi feels himself go cherry red as the crowd cheers.

*

“Political pundits were stunned today at the announcement that the Makoto Tachibana campaign has already selected a running mate. The announcement comes the day after Tachibana’s final opponent, Sousuke Yamazaki, conceded defeat. What is even more surprising is Tachibana’s selection of his vanquished opponent to be his Vice-President, despite – or perhaps because of? – their infamous clashes on the campaign trail.” The red-headed reporter nods gravely to the camera, with an odd twinkle in her eyes.

“Amakata Miho has the story.”

Makoto rolls over slightly, jostling the room-service tray at the foot of the king-sized bed. The “special in-depth coverage” on their announcement spools on but pulls back slightly to the background of his attention, ready to pop back to the foreground should anything juicy come up.

“I think that reporter has us pegged.”

Sousuke snorts, eyes crinkling up on the sides behind his narrow glasses. He’s still intent on the news, which is hypocritical and sort of cute for a dude who enjoys going off on the media so much.

“Shit, I think I would’ve remembered _that.”_ He turns his gaze down to where Makoto sprawls at his side, both of them warm and still damp from the shower, a little sticky from the hotel moisturizer. They share a crisp white sheet against the chill of the AC.

“God, you were such a slut that debate, saying you wanted to sleep with the whole fucking country,” Sousuke marvels, and his hand has now strayed down under the sheet to nudge almost tentatively against Makoto’s hip. WHICH, is really ticklish, and he’s trying not to laugh and wreck the mood.

Makoto hauls himself up, angling in where Sousuke sits against the puffy leather headboard and enjoying the uncontrolled look in his eyes just a _little_ too much.

“Words are words. Actions speak louder.” He smiles slowly against Sousuke’s lips, feeling the other man’s breath quicken. “Here’s to new habits.”

**Author's Note:**

> ....ok. So the secret of this fic that will instantly date me is that Sou is more or less based on good ol' grumpy pants Ralph Nader, whose campaign was AWESOME and was (arguably) (partly?) responsible for the darkness we were plunged into in 2000. So it's actually sorta political after all. But hopefully that isn't a TOTAL turnoff!
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS to my dear Meatball who headcanoned with me that what if Mako was Clinton and Haru was his new hottie intern and... well, you get the rest. I'm sorry :/ 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!


End file.
